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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846241">he came for the music, stayed for the show</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalotgoingon/pseuds/notalotgoingon'>notalotgoingon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DreamSMP, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon, DreamSMP - Freeform, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Tommy’s death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:55:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846241</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalotgoingon/pseuds/notalotgoingon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy always wanted to make the world beautiful through lovely harmonies, but when he’s gone, will the darkness take over? Or Tommy’s last thoughts as he dies.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>TommyInnit &amp; Dream, Tommyinnit &amp; Tubbo, Tommyinnit &amp; Wilbur Soot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed stories I've read</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>he came for the music, stayed for the show</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you so much to my first ever beta Doodle_a_Doud. She is so amazing and taught me a lot about sentence structure. I am incredibly grateful.</p><p>  This is my first DreamSMP fic, and I figured what better topic to write about than Tommy’s death. I hope you all enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The world went silent. No fireworks or bombs, no great explosion to rival any other seen before. Yes, it was a momentous event that would shake everyone to their very core when the news broke. But for a long time after, the world would be silent.</p><p>  When Tommy went down, he went down silently, and the whole world followed his lead. In his lifetime, he had collected discs that surrounded the world with beautiful music. He just wanted everything to be beautiful.</p><p>  “Stop it!” He had screamed along with a torrent of horrible, cruel names to describe his killer. Dream hadn’t stopped. Dream wouldn’t stop, he knew. He wonders how everyone can be so naïve as to let the puppet master have his way.</p><p>  He wonders what they’ll say- his friends and family- after they find out he died. He wonders when the news will break. Then, he wonders whether or not Wilbur will be happy to see him. It seems likely that he will be met with surprise, immediate anger and sorrow, and also, grief. Then his brother will tightly hug him, overwhelmed with the memories of when they were alive. And happy. They were once alive and happy, joyous people living out their days in a wonderful community with music and festivities. </p><p>  Now, the world is a cold, dark place, and maybe it has always been this way. Before Dream, before L’manburg, before Tommy took his last breath. Maybe it’s always been cruel, heartless, and merciless, a land of deceit that caused dismay to well up in the mind of everyone who inhabited it. But at least when Tommy was there, everything was a little brighter. He cheered them up with his playful nature and jokes. Some people criticized his love of the music discs, but he cherished them; everyone knew of the harmonies that managed to have them all dancing and humming along. Tommy made them better people, and sure, he made mistakes, but nobody is perfect. He was a wonderful sound, the most melodious tune from a songbird’s beak. That was Tommy. Not the chaos or the fighting, that’s not who he was. He was like the last day of summer. With a childlike quality, he was beloved, held onto until it slipped away, and everyone was remorseful when it did.</p><p>  In his last moments, he feels a certain clarity set in that makes everything seem laid out before him like a completed jigsaw puzzle. He understands everything, and his mind is swarming, buzzing with ideas and emotions about who he is and who the people around him really are.</p><p>  First, he thinks about the man before him. He hates his murderer, Dream, and criticizes himself for even venturing into the prison in the first place. He hates the fact that he let himself fall to his knees at the captive’s hand. Most of all, he hates himself. He knows people blame him for things like the fall of L’manburg and starting the chaos in the first place. But he is so young. How could he have known the impact his actions would have on the world? Tommy hates himself for inadvertently causing the world to shatter, and he hates that there is no more beauty in the world. Dream has won, and he allowed it. He could’ve killed him- should’ve killed him- when he had the chance.</p><p>  He thinks of Tubbo, poor, sweet, innocent Tubbo, the one he could never fully protect. He always wanted to tag along, join in on the fun, even when it wasn’t fun. Tubbo will be the only one left in Tommy’s mind, the only truly pure one out of all of them. The weight will be on his shoulders, and Tommy hates himself for that. He wishes he had done more while he had the chance. One of the things they had in common that bonded them forever was that their childhoods had been stolen from them by war, death, and sacrifice. He thinks that, maybe, Tubbo was the only one who ever cared about him. And that is what kills him. Not Dream, not the darkness, just the thought of not cherishing the time he spent with Tubbo. Instead, he had to continue to clash with others, anger the wrong people, put objects above his friends and family, and that killed him.</p><p>  The soundtrack of his life has turned somber, still beautiful and poetically solemn, but sad, depressing, a mourning tune. He thinks about everyone and everything he has lost. He was honorable, wasn’t he? He was noble and brave in every quest he undertook. He found beauty in the bleak and dreary. He created light when there was only darkness. That much was admirable, he thinks to comfort himself as he practically throws himself at Dream like he wants to die. And maybe he does. Maybe the darkness had finally won, and the music could not help him anymore.</p><p>  It wasn’t all bad. His last thought besides acute, everlasting hatred for the little green egomaniac was that he might finally see Wilbur again. And that would be enough to soothe his fear and worry about the afterlife. He has always thought about dying. It was like a colored glass bottle through which sunlight shone, and he could never reach it. He wanted to, but the sunbeam was too high. Furthermore, he was warned about moving it, about holding it, and even breaking it. Life is a lot like that bottle. And so finally, he got tall enough and brave enough to reach it, but when he finally lifted it by the neck, his hand slipped. It shattered, narrowly missing hitting his skin. He can’t decide if that is an accurate description, but he can’t think clearly anymore with his numerous injuries taking precedent in his head. He flops to the ground and shuts his eyes and thinks about how terrible it is that the last thing he sees will be a prison cell before he is set free. It is truly terrible to be dead, and he knows that now.</p><p>  So the world grew quiet. No fish splashed in the perfect cerulean waters. No animals trampled leaves in the lush forests. No birds sang, and not even the grass rustled. Without Tommy’s laugh, nobody smiled. Something was amiss, and everyone knew it. Even Tommy held his breath, not daring to make a sound, as Dream stole his life. The young flower wilted, collapsed in shambles like shattered glass, and the darkness of the onyx floor did not shudder, did not rumble, as he did. His head fell back, empty. If he is to be forgotten, he wants everyone to remember him the way he used to be, smiling and happy. He wants to be buried in SnowChester, but honestly, he’d rather no burial at all. He just wants Tubbo to play the discs one more time, and the world will be beautiful even without him in it. He has always come for the music.</p><p>  Theseus dies in disgrace in the middle of a silent world that in his mind, won’t miss him at all.</p>
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